


Evolution without Courage

by Kappakay



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Introspection, Monster!Jon, post MAG 160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23588476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kappakay/pseuds/Kappakay
Summary: “I assumed she’d been possessed completely against her will, but now I’m not even sure that’s possible...How much of our will power is just safety? Comfort by another name. The option to choose and be fine. When does it stop? The guilt, the misery. When does the Eye make me monstrous?”He opens his eyes again, staring at the person across from him. When indeed?
Comments: 3
Kudos: 67





	Evolution without Courage

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before season 5 started airing and now that there are suggestions of the Archivist being a separate entity to Jon...  
> I'm scared y'all.

There is a door in his mind. Now don’t get him wrong, the appearance of doors within his mind is not a new development; in fact, multiple ones usually spawn, each one styled to suit the passing conscious of unsuspecting fools that walk too close to him. Pressure builds behind each one, shadows made of letters oozing out of the cracks, straining against the hinges desperate to communicate. Each one caresses him, tempting him to come closer. This one… there are shadows, but they are also not.

There is a door in his mind. It’s nothing remarkable; a plain slab of light brown marbled wood with a matching frame, something one would see in any building, except for a simple carving around where the peephole would be. It started as a typical eye, but then the edges of the eye swirl upwards into jagged shapes, like a crown. As something pulls him towards the door, something else pulls him away. It was incessant, a needy little puppy pulling at his pant leg wanting him to not go any closer. The two forces all but negate each other, except for one small sliver reaching into his mind, promising him the one thing he could never turn away from. 

_Answers._ That’s what was calling him beyond the door. No doorknob or latch of any kind could be seen on the surface of the door, but he knew, somehow, that if he pressed against the wood, it would open without any resistance. It wanted him to know. To see what secrets it held because it was secrets collected specifically for him. He reached out, the wine lacquered wood smooth under his fingers-

“W-wait! No d-don’t Elias!”

Elias? He paused, his brow furrowing in thought. Something didn’t taste right about that statement. “Try again,” He said, his voice distorted as if he was speaking into an endless cave.

The person who had called out sucked in a shuddering breath. “No, n-no it can’t be…” The person whispers to himself as if unable to believe it, and he looks over his shoulder, not catching what the other person said. Said person stands at a similar height, similar build, similar… everything. They step back, eyes going wide as recognition dawns on their face. “J-Jon?”

A wave of information ran over him as a click of a tape recorder reverberated in the vast emptiness. _“Test, test, 1, 2, 3… Right. My name is Jonathan Sims. I work for the Magnus Institute, London, an organization dedicated to academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal.”_ He sighs, the knowledge seeping into his bones anew. From the taste, he could discern that this was information he knew once, but had been temporarily lost in the army of words marching across his skin. Closing his eyes, he flips through his mental catalogue, sensing for one that calls to him to fill out the missing information. It responds quickly, eager. The tape clicks and his voice fills the air.

_“I assumed she’d been possessed completely against her will, but now I’m not even sure that’s possible...How much of our will power is just safety? Comfort by another name. The option to choose and be fine. When does it stop? The guilt, the misery. When does the Eye make me monstrous?”_

He opens his eyes again, staring at the person across from him. _When indeed?_

Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute stood with eyes wide before the Archivist. Fear rolls off him in roaring waves and along with it, knowledge. The Archivist couldn’t help breathe it in, deep and soothing, observing what scares Jon so, drinking it all in. He saw himself, a man that was exact in every aspect of his own appearance right down to the Corruption scars across his face, but with a few caveats. The Archivist’s all seeing eyes glowed a bright green in the dark, with nebulas mutely swirling just below the surface. Red veins spidered out from his eye sockets, wrapping around his face and disappearing under the collar of his green button down. If Jon had a keener eye, he would have noticed that they weren’t veins, but words that twisted under his skin, shifting and moving as more knowledge entered the Archivist’s mind. That wasn’t what scared Jon the most though. What scared him was the oppressive aura the Archivist gave off. In his child mind he couldn’t comprehend what that was, he couldn’t see the wings made of skeletal bones, peppered with monstrous eyes that bored down on him, eager to devour every thought and feeling trapped within his skin suit. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it, and it was strong. A content sigh escapes The Archivist’s lips, the breath wrapping around his lips to curl them up into a hungry smile. “Hello Jon.”

Jon swallows, his eyes frantic as he tries to rope in his fear, to communicate with this other version of himself. “Right. So you are… Me. Jon. The Archivist or whatever it is you want to be called.”

“Yes, as are you,” The Archivist replied. 

“Right.” Jon licks his lips, shifting on his feet. “So, you’re me and I’m you, blah blah blah, insert some esoteric philosophical nonsense about two halves of a whole, I’m not interested in the run around answers I get from… your kind.”

“Our kind, Jon. I am you, as you so eloquently put it.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Jon said softly, wearily eyeing the Archivist. “So, what are we to cohabit a brain? Or are we to uh, meld, or we have a battle of wills, how does this-”

“Why did you stop me?” The Archivist asked, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. 

“S-Sorry?”

“From opening the door. You are the one that called it here after all”

“Me? I don’t...” A pause. “The Watcher’s Crown.” Jon runs a hand through his unkempt hair, trying to unsuccessfully calm his nerves. “Technically I didn’t call this.. Door down, that was Jonah.”

“You spoke the words,” The Archivist points out, watching as his human self struggles to understand.

“Well, yes _technically_ it was my voice, but the words belonged to Jonah, I don’t- this isn’t - I’m not- I-” 

“You spoke the words, not Jonah Magnus. The door, and its contents, are here for you, not him.”

Jon sighs heavily, his hand reaching down to his pocket as if to pull out a cigarette. After rustling about trying to find one, he swears in defeat and goes back to combing his hair. The Archivist hums as he watches, drinking in the emotions as they roll off of the bundle of nerves that was his human self, a knowing glint in his eye. The thirst for knowledge, the hatred of being so close to something bigger than himself, than anything anyone could ever imagine and yet the unwillingness to risk everything because of cowardice was something the Archivist knew well. Perhaps he hated what the Archivist is. At least, that’s what Jon would say to convince himself of his humanity. Perhaps, if the Archivist knew himself well enough, there was enough of a curiosity that could be fostered from under that cowardly exterior.

Nothing drove Jon more than the desire to _Know_ but the hand wringing was a hindrance. He just needed the right push.

After a moment of reflection, Jon shakes his head, his eyes darting to the door briefly before staring contemplatively at the Archivist. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

The Archivist chuckles. “Who’s to say what is and isn’t wise? The path to gain enlightenment rarely follows the basic social construct of what is acceptable. To step out, to truly evolve, one must make, what some would call, less than wise decisions. But the rewards are more than what those too cowardly to walk this path would dream.”

“You speak as though this has already happened.”

“Hasn’t it?” The Archivist quirks a brow at Jon, his Eyes pressing down from above, unblinking as they watch the scene unfold. “Was it wise for you to explore those tunnels beneath the institute? Was it wise to seek out the avatars of various entities? Some would say no, but are you not wiser than before?”

“That was part of Elias’- _Jonah’s_ plan though. To Mark me. To make me his… mouthpiece, his _sacrifice_ for the Eye to complete his damn ritual and ruin the world.”

The Archivist huffs in amusement, shaking his head. “How pitiful you are.”

Jon blinks, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Even now, at the cusp of obtaining unfathomable greatness, you still feign ignorance.” Sighing, the Archivist looks at his other self, a hint of sadness tugging at the corner of his lips. “You don’t have to anymore, Jon. As you’ve said, I am you and I know everything. I know that, while the pain was horrid, you found a thrill in unraveling the mystery of the Entities. I know that you could have easily let the End claim you in that hospital bed, but your desire to _Know_ was too strong and you chose to come back, regardless of the cost. And I know that the written, dried up statements are not enough to satiate the hunger that’s grown inside you, that the only way for you to feel _right_ is to force statements. The more unwilling the subject, the greater joy you have. That feeling, that power, is something special Jon.”

“No! I’m not- I can’t

The click of the tape recorder reverberates around them again. _“What I’ve been doing to these people, it- it hasn’t been because I’ve been puppeted or controlled, or possessed. I wanted to. It felt good. But at least I know I can stop. I just don’t know how I… I don’t - want to stop.”_ Jon pales, averting his eyes to the ground in shame as the Archivist chuckles. “You want knowledge, but you don’t want the stares from the others. You want them to think of you as still human, as being one of them, but you’re not. Not anymore. And that both scares you and excites you.”

“I _have_ accepted it. I listened to Oliver make his statement, took his advice and I’m here now alive because I chose to not be-” He takes a shaky breath, clenching his fists - “-human.”

The Archivist shakes his head, a silent challenge to his tone. “Accepting your role and actually embracing it are different paths Jon. One makes you complacent, easily susceptible to the whims of a stronger Avatar, whereas the other-” His smile turns sharp. “Why it would be you calling the shots.”

Jon eyes him, curiosity rising to calm the flow of fear. _Good._ As much as the Archivist enjoyed the snack off his more human self, there was a time and place. It’s about playing the long game, and he has plans. His insatiable appetite could wait, for a feast was around the corner. “What do you get out of it?”

“Me?” The Archivist blinks. “I am you, Jon. What I want is what’s best for us.”

Jon hums, not satisfied. “And what about Martin?”

“What about Martin?” 

“Are you going to hurt him?”

A pause. It was supposed to be a question, but it came across as a statement. Most likely because Jon already knew the answer. Regardless, the Archivist makes a noncommittal noise as he shrugs. “What Martin does will be of his own volition. I have no intention of inflicting harm without cause.”

Jon laughs, humourless. “I don’t know why I bother with your kind.”

The Archivist narrows his eyes. “Our kind.”

“Yes, yes we are one so you say, yet here we are as fragments of apparently the same person. I’m here and you’re there and you’re very clearly trying to get me to agree to something so you can reach omnipotence to which I say - with the greatest emphasis- Fuck. Off.”

The Archivist sighs, rubbing his temple. “Now that would indeed be unwise.”

“After waxing poetic about how ‘actions thought to be wise are subjective’-”

“If you reject me, you will die.” The Archivist interrupts, annoyance plain in his voice. 

Jon stammers, his confusion spiralling into hostility. “Y-You’re lying.”

“I can’t.”

“Oh like I’m going to believe-”

“As much as people cannot lie to you when you compel them, the reverse is true. You cannot lie to them in turn.”

“But… But Elias he-”

“Jonah has not achieved the level of enlightenment required for such a feat. As a result, he is an excellent word smith, but he has never lied to you. Omitted facts yes, but that is not lying; to weasel out information, sometimes you have to press your victim into a corner. Jonah has had centuries to master avoiding straight answers for truths are not his trade; he merely watches. We are the ones that have to know. We gather information, facts and fears and for that, we know only the truth.

“Beyond that door is knowledge of an existence that extends beyond human understanding and it is prime for us to take it. It was brought down for us. Your fear is what is holding us back. It always has.” Click _“When has your guilt, or your hand wringing ever actually stopped you from doing what it wants?”_

Silence hangs between the two men as Jon chews over the words. His fear is still there, and all the hesitation that comes with it, but his curiosity is on the rise too, helping to amplify the gnawing sensation the Archivist feels behind him. The door’s insistent, black words straining against the hinges, demanding to be devoured by him for no one else would be able to understand their majesty. A not-shadow snakes over his shoulder, the words burrowing deep under his skin, to his bones. The Archivist shivers, the sensation heating him to his core in a mixture of pleasure and fear. He tries to know what the words say, but it’s lost in the tapestry woven in his blood. A pity.

Jon sighs loudly, calling his attention once again. “He’s watching this, isn’t he?”

“No. Everywhere else has his attention right now. So much fear to be seen, too little time. He wouldn’t want to waste a minute of it.” A tape recorder clicks _“I am to be king of a ruined world and I shall never die.”_ “He is the Ceaseless Watcher. He watches. Knowledge is not his forte.”

His feet restless with stagnation, Jon starts pacing, less frantic and more pensive. “We could just not open the door?”

The Archivist snorts at that. “Leave knowledge alone? How well did that go for you last time?” 

Click. _“I’ve been reading nothing but these old dry statements for so long I- I feel weak. Like I’m fading away. Do I restrain myself, keep myself in check even at the cost of my life?”_ Even though the words were his own, Jon frowns at them, running his hand through his hair again, the silver streaks more prominent.

“It will kill us. If not specifically this, then one of the fears will get you. Ignoring this will not change what has already come to pass, all you’re doing is hindering yourself, leaving you and Martin vulnerable.”

Jon snapped his head back to look at the Archivist. “You said-”

“Yes I did but it’s not me you need to fear. There are numerous beings out there who would love to hunt you down and kill you or worse. It is a world of terror and we can survive, can protect Martin, but we need what’s behind that door. We need to be whole.”

The fear is building again, making the Eyes quiver in anticipation. Jon curses under his breath, his hand rubbing his face. Patience. That’s all he needs. Just a little bit of patience and-

Jon sighs loudly, stopping in his tracks and dropping his hands by his side. “Fine,” he whispers. The Archivist watches as Jon steps forward, his own eyes intent on that benign looking door. His stride is hesitant at first as he unknowingly searches for knowledge, looking for a reason to not believe the Archivist. 

Click.

Glass shattering. Howling winds. Incoherent screams ebbing and flowing like waves. A distinct metallic screech. Throwing his hands over his ears, Jon joins the chorus of screams, hunching over as if in pain and the Archivist laughs. The tape only plays for a second, but it felt like an eternity to Jon, and when the blissful silence envelops him once again, it takes him a good while to straighten himself out. 

“You wanted to know,” The Archivist states plainly as he listens to Jons uneven breathing.

With a shaky hand, Jon adjusts his glasses. “Yes, I suppose I did.” There’s a pause as Jon recovers. _Humans are so fragile. It’s a pity he took so long to accept me._ “And there’s no way to reverse it?”

“Honestly,” The Archivist shrugs, “I don’t know, and you won’t either until you open that door.”

Jon scoffs. “As if the Watcher would want to give us that kind of information.”

 _Us._ The Archivist likes the sound of that. “The Beholding may not be aware that it possess the knowledge, but it stands to reason that if one knows how to create an apocalypse-”

“One knows how to stop it.” Jon crosses his arms. “What about you? What do you gain to benefit by helping me stop it all?”

He hums, the flow of words gliding across his skin like water as the Archivist devours more knowledge, satiating the hunger. “We hunt for knowledge wherever it may lead us, even if in that pursuit, it destroys us. That’s the fear of the Ceaseless Watcher.” If he was more in tune with his own emotions, he would have been able to feel his own fear mixing with the steady stream The Archivist felt from the people around the world. If he cared to know about his own emotions, perhaps he would have found a way to dodge that question. But he didn’t, for he wants to know.

The Archivist wasn’t sure if what he said was enough to satisfy Jon’s hesitance, but the other man nodded to himself and chose to accept it. Striding more confidently than before, Jon took the last few steps to stand beside the Archivist, both of them now facing the door, shoulder to shoulder. He waits. Jon raises his hand, fingers mere inches from the door and yet he still hesitates. “Martin… Will he..” Fingers curl loosely as his will wavers. “Will he still… Will I still be me?”

“Identities change even without the addition of Entities. You will change, but at your core, you’re still us. Questioning it more brings on too many aspects of the Spiral.”

Jon huffs. “Of course.” 

There is a door in his mind. It looks insignificant, a plain slab of wood, but it is so much more. It holds so many secrets, all of which are to be laid bare before them both, a generous buffet of knowledge. It was to be enjoyed only by them for they were the only ones brave enough to evolve beyond their human restraints. The Archivist felt his skin tingle in desire, the Eyes opening wide. Taking a deep breath, Jon raises his hand and places it gently on the door. A new, terrifyingly sharp smile comes out of hiding as The Archivist’s hand takes its place right beside Jon’s and together they push open the door.


End file.
